


it sticks to my feet

by pixiepuff (colourmecrunchy)



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Emotions, Intense, M/M, Reincarnation, also sexual humour, our boys are forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourmecrunchy/pseuds/pixiepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didnt' believe in coincidences.</p><p>Because Bradley clutched back with the crashing, destructive kind of force that fell mountains and forests, with intensity of someone who waited just as long, who despite all his strength couldn't prevent the tragic prophecy, who died in the arms of his one and only, and waited in the depths and heights, pits and peaks, seemingly solid but nothing more than a wistful spirit, but not granted the gift of forgetting and withstood an age of solitude, waiting to be reunited.</p><p>(wrote this back in March and forgot about it, but the possible-reincarnation spoilers brought it back up to the surface and--- why not)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it sticks to my feet

It's crap.

 

It's sheer and utter crap and Colin wonders why he even signed up for this fuckery. Because besides the whole _main character_ thing, there's really nothing that suggests he's even needed in the last bloody season.

And he's not usually like this. He's not moody and sulky and petulant, he doesn't snap at people or make their day harder than it already is. And fuck, he's not even sure if it's not actually a character bleed, but it still doesn't change the fact that he feels redundant. Unneccessary. _Irrelevant_.

 

 _Kill the spare,_ Voldemort said.

 

And he's not even granted that bloody mercy, no. Instead, he's the omni-present one, the one who sees and knows it all and can do absolutely nothing about it. What was the point of it all, anyway? And who writes this shit? What happened to children/family oriented comedy series?

 

Bad decisions and even worse script writers, that's what happened.

 

He refuses to accept this, this helpless feeling of being a puppet on a string, and crap, he knows, okay, he _knows_ he's not actually Merlin and that he's here because apparently for some twisted reason they saw him as the best person who could read lines for the role, but this is the biggest, most prodigious thing that's happened in his life so far - he'd like to say it was something like finding faith or reconnecting with his family or helping those in need at charity events, but he's not kidding himself, it may be petty but this sodding show was actually his _thing_ , his Nobel, his Pulitzer, his Oscar - and he refuses to accept that he has absolutely no saying in it whatsoever. The fact that he needs to get his shit together in the next five minutes doesn't really help the matters either.

 

_It's just a role, Colin._

 

Well that's where they're bloody wrong, isn't it? Because it's _not_ just a role. Something that consumes your life on so many levels for so many years isn't just a stray linen you brush off. It has given him endless travel, new experiences, new people -

 

It has given him Bradley. Idiotic, easy-going, arrogant, big-hearted, still-counts-on-his-fingers Bradley, who is by all means and purposes the Arthur to his Merlin, the other side of the bloody coin, the curve to his straight lines, the thought outside the box. Sometimes at night, when the world narrows down to tangled limbs and sheets and Bradley holds him close, possessively, a strong, firm arm around him, hand pressing palm-down over his chest and keeping them connected even while asleep, Colin wonders. For hours, sometimes. He wonders if the legends are actually true. There's no smoke without the fire, after all. And no fire without a spark.

Because over a millenia ago, a powerful - incredibly, inexplicably and otherworldly powerful - man lost everything that he ever held dear - he lost his reason, his light, his king, and if everything he did up until then didn't prove he'd shake the very foundations of this world with his love, he went and waited, bloody _waited_ for so long that no doubt all who walked the earth that could remember were long gone and forgotten themselves - even the time itself turning his back on him, on _them_ , destiny mating with misery in some god-forsaken corner, not acknowledging the bargain it itself offered so many life times ago.  
Colin could only imagine, at first, but then he could _feel_ it, as if something snapped and clicked inside, the hopelessness and despair, the grief that followed feeling so utterly empty and bereft, longing for the numbness that never came.

He didnt' believe in coincidences.

Because Bradley clutched back with the crashing, destructive kind of force that fell mountains and forests, with intensity of someone who waited just as long, who despite all his strength couldn't prevent the tragic prophecy, who died in the arms of his one and only, and waited in the depths and heights, pits and peaks, seemingly solid but nothing more than a wistful spirit, but not granted the gift of forgetting and withstood an age of solitude, waiting to be reunited.

Bradley was his Arthur, brought to life for some unknown reason at this point in history, and sometimes Colin wondered why _now_ , of all times - but then Bradley murmured in his sleep something about _swords_ and kissed his shoulder, and it _struck_ Colin, and don't ask him why sleep-talk and a shoulder-kiss was a catalyst, but suddenly he _knew_ , and maybe it didn't sound as important as to lead an invincible army against bad, dark forces, but putting the pieces together felt a bit like the revelation achieved through weeks of hallucinating and meditation, the sweet epiphany  rolling around his mind. The world finally came to a point where events from so long ago could be told to the masses, to show and teach and affect, to advise without actually ordering, to offer a glance and let the countless, faceless spectators figure it all out in their heads by themselves.  
The time finally came to tell their story. So his king awoke.

 

Maybe it was reliving the moment that upset Colin to such an extent. The field, and the blood, and screams, no matter how fake, filled his ears and the beloved head of blonde-turned-dirty-and-bloody locks, and body _deathly still_ on the ground hit a bit too close to home. It wasn't at all like (re)enacting it, suddenly. It was like _remembering_ , reminiscing, observing, watching how Arthur fell, how Bradley lay on the ground motionless, face slack and looking gone, that had Colin screaming in a long-forgotten but now awaken cry of anguish, of dread and mortification, pushing everything aside, unseeing and unhearing and shaking the body on the ground. Tears fell, hot and heavy, an uncontrolled sob wrenching itself out of his throat when his forehead collided with Bradley's and his fingers twisted in Arthur's hair of their own accord.

He didn't know how long he stayed that way until his vision finally started un-blurring itself around the edges and his cheeks stung, drying tears like little electricity shocks. He heard voices, whispers, and the _let's take five_ felt like a life line he was waiting for. A few moments later the air on the other side of the fake make-shift ruins felt fresh on his face, keeping him in check, but he felt shaken to the core, imagery in front of him unlocking the memories that no one should re-live. He collapsed in a crouch, cowering his eyes and letting the tears fall, the tears for his king, tears of sorrow and joy because of loss and _reunion_ , remembering how it hurt, how much it hurt and split him in two, but Bradley was here now, the wait was finally _over_ and he could breathe again.

A warm, familiar body settled behind him on the ground, legs coming around him on either side. Two strong arms encircled his middle and a head rested on his back just below his neck.

His _all_. He'd recognize him anywhere.

 

"They said it was good. But that we should try to do it a little less intense next take."

"What did you say?"

"I told them to suck my cock."

"But that's my job."

 

Bradley chuckled into his back and kept his grip around his waist.

 

"Colin, are you all right?"

"No."

 

The sigh that followed was so intense Colin actually thought the air around them thinned a little.

Bradley murmured. "It's scary, isn't it?"

"I'm terrified."

 

Bradley pressed him back against himself, enveloping him completely.

"Listen to me carefully because I shall say this only once."

"Oh my god, Bradley, please tell me you didn't just quote _Alo alo_."

"Did it take your mind off things?"

"For a moment, yes."

"Good."

 

A face was pressed into the side of his neck, smearing dirt and fake blood all over his skin and Colin felt a momentary pleasure that the make up staff will flip them off repeatedly for this, and relished in the sweet rush that came whenever they were this close. The fact that everybody else were just a few feet away - hopefully all of them still on the other side of the wall, though he couldn't count on some of the knights to not be nosy, and by some of the knights he definitely meant Eoin and Alex and Tom - made everything just a little bit more real.

 

"Bradley, I-"

"I _know_."

"What can we actually do?"

"Besides making sure history won't bloody repeat itself again?"

"I can't lose you again."

"You won't."

"So whatever are we going to do?"

"Suck cock."

" _What_?"

"A lot. Whenever possible."

"And this will help how?"

"Colin, if by now you can't see the benefits of me giving you head then I'm not sure you're the real Merlin."

"Good point."

"I know."

"You don't think we did that back then, too?"

"Oh I'm sure of it."

"Then why should it help _this_ time?"

"Because now there's technology and doctors and this thing called an ambulance if anyone gets hurt. Also, I don't have a stupid kingdom to look and fret over, which leaves more time for the aforementioned cock sucking."

"Your inner romantic takes my breath away."

"I know. You can't get enough of me."

"Since a millennia ago, it seems."

"Yes, professor Morgan."


End file.
